My Memoir

Hello.

               

     Twenty years ago in about five months, you were born. Twenty years and nine months if you count the period you were a guest in her womb. When they loved each other enough to make love, you’re not sure if the goal was a child, or just the pleasure of being intimate, being in love and wanting the whole building, the whole city, the whole world to know that love blossomed from each of their bodies and into one another. Months passed quietly, love and work, both activities consumed them entirely. A forgettable day became memorable. She was pregnant. 4 months.

                

Love was made recklessly and in the process life was created. But two lives were already in full progress. Climbing up the corporate ladder, consumed with better, desiring for more. Desire rejected the new life, it would be a hindrance, a roadblock to what those two lives in full progress were destined to achieve.

               

But in the midst of love they decided to love the life now living in her body. Timing was wrong, plans were obliterated, but desire still abided in both lives. They worked harder, became less invested in each other and more invested in a future that needed to be created for the life that was already changing their lives and their love.

                

You were born. It was a blizzard. Just the two lives, nervously starring at the new one. The freezing precip fell from the sky, a cold chill ran up their spines, the love that seemingly had inferno strength left them freezing.

                

The city was left for suburbia. Culture for cookie cutter. But hey, who said the American dream incorporated culture? Love was left in that small studio apartment, where love made a life that changed two. You worry they resent you.

               

Months passed, the new life grew. You walked and talked, you said dad first, then mom. And then they left. Desire never left either of them, while love slowly did. They went back to work, started where they had left off. A nanny became your parents. She was nice though, lovely woman. She loved the live the two had created, the life they left to continue their own. The two lives would quietly stop in your room, as if they were visiting you in their own home. They loved you, they really did.

One Christmas after another, they weren't there. The two lives off pursuing goals, attaining some America dream, which was a fucking joke. Your dream was sitting in front of a massive pine covered tree opening presents with a fucking nanny. Love never filled that house the way it did the small studio apartment where they carelessly made love and life.

              

 Facades became a daily ritual for the two lives that no longer loved each other. Oddly enough they cared enough about the life they made to stay together, try and stick it out or whatever. You grew up, went to school, and made friends. Lived the typical American life, you were beginning to blossom while the two lives had been slowly rotting.

               

The nanny left, the new life wasn't so new anymore. The house got cold, almost like the blizzard you had been born on. It’s not that love wasn't there, but love for each other was gone. The two lives no longer loved each other just the one they created. How could you not love the person you made life with?

Divorce. They had rotted into corpses of who they had been in that studio apartment ten years prior. You didn't cry, you expected it. You lived, held your feels deep in the crevices of your heart and lived. Because although this is an autobiography they are your life, they gave you life and they took life from you. The emotional pain killed inside, you never think your family will be the one to explode. But you lived, made it through middle school then high school.  

That was life. They offered objects instead of affection. You love them but you hate them. They should have tried harder, did better. Now you look for love in every fucking person because you didn't experience enough at home. Because the two people who had once loved each other so much couldn't even show you, their kid what the fuck love was.

You’re in college now.  A pretty cool kid; you have no idea what you want to be. But you know you want to contribute; you can contribute to society, to the world, to art? Who knows what institution you’ll truly make your mark on. You love your parents, you know they want the best for you, and just like how you’re trying to navigate through the highs and lows of young adulthood, they did the same trying to figure out how to raise you. In no way is this autobiography a massacre of them, of those two lives because they were and are human, they’re growing. We’re actually growing together. I love you. 

Feminism: Feminist?

Feminism – the advocacy of women’s rights on the grounds of political, social, and economic equality to men. Prominence arose during the French and American revolutions in the late 18^th century.

Derived from the French word: feminisme

-New Oxford Dictionary

                I feel as though there’s looseness as to how the word feminism is used and how the tittle of feminist is applied.

Being in college I've notice a new wave of young women rallying in the name of feminism and identifying by it, and that’s great. Beyond the educational experience one should be getting from college it’s hands down the most formative years for the future individual you will be; the person you’re becoming. An aspect of this growth process will of course be dedicated to one’s sexuality, and for some women (and men, but for the purpose of this post it’s strictly women) that means going through this almost explorative experience with multiple male or female partners, which I’m not condemning. But then these same young women identify as feminist after the walk of shame they shuffled through earlier that same day; and that confused me.

 You don’t just “put on” feminism or being feminist when it’s convenient for you and “take it off” after you've finished your charade. Feminism or being a feminist is a thought process, a mindset, a movement of advocacy. This misconception that one can be feminist when it’s fitting at that appointed time is a complete oxymoron. Being a feminist as far as I’m concerned is a very admirable tittle that unfortunately tends to get a bad reputation.

This new trending belief system (odds are it’s been around, but simply closeted) that one can be a feminist in the day and whoring around in the night is very unorthodox to me. Granted it’s a very touchy subject;  the relationship between feminism and sexual tendencies.; and there is a fine line between observing and realizing your sexuality as a woman…after all pussy power is the main title of this blog. And I advocate the understanding of one’s self to the fullest extent, that including your sexuality and what it harbors and possibly benefits in your life. But if your habitats include laying your worth down at the wayside for the first cat-call of the evening…I mean if you even respond to cat-calls as a woman in general, whether you identify as a feminist or not, is a serious problem.

Nevertheless my point is not to reign down some doctrine on how women should behave, sexually or otherwise, but don’t claim something you aren't. How can I take you seriously if I know your respect for yourself concludes at the different door you enter each night? Now again, I am not saying “Oh all feminist should be the reincarnated Mother Teresa.”

This is merely one person’s opinion; mine. And although this blog is fairly new my beliefs are not. I am not saying this is applicable to every young woman/woman feminist or otherwise but simply something seen in my experience thus far.

Attaining equality has and never will be easy; we started this crusade for rights over three centuries ago and the fight is still ongoing. That should speak volumes in of itself. I mean please have your sex, enjoy It too because being a feminist doesn't mean a loss of sexual freedom rather the gaining of freedom through the understanding of the worth you have as a woman.

Phew…I think I’m done lol

Blog Update:

I've noticed as of late that this blog has quickly evolved into more of an avenue that really explores feminism, rather than my original intention to explore the power of pussy…and I like that.  I guess it is become multifold if you will, and I think I want to equally dedicate opinions and thoughts to both because believe it or not, realizing that your femininity is power in itself is knowledge. I believe the two are closely related but the latter tends to be more of a taboo topic, which I hope to change. Please stay tuned to new and upcoming posts that will either incorporate or be directly related to either the power of pussy or feminism, whether it be a certain aspect or a more broad post discussing feminism overall.

Blog updates are simply messages written from myself directly to my readers informing of new changes and/or updates. These updates are in no way related to the post it is attached too and our solely designed to inform of changes occurring in regard to the blog.